


stagnant

by starbreather



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: (except no comfort), Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Tourette Syndrome, just your local touretter writing about disability, please give this boy a shot even tho she's short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 20:48:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17291141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starbreather/pseuds/starbreather
Summary: Peter has another secret to hide, one he barely understands himself, and that's eager to get out.orPeter develops Tourette Syndrome (a disorder that results in uncontrollable vocalizations and motor movements). He doesn't let anyone know even when it becomes detrimental.





	stagnant

**Author's Note:**

> eyy,, this is your local Tourette's kid just writing fanfiction. If you have any questions about TS or about this story, in general, please let me know. A lot of this was drawn on from my experience as a person with TS so there's that.

“So,” Peter said in the doctor’s office, “I have Tourette’s Syndrome?”

The walls were white and there was one poster on the wall that read “Controlling Tics Isn’t This Easy’ with a light switch on it. Peter had first wondered what a tic was before the doctor explained that it was one of his new… things. 

The neurologist nodded. “Tourette is the correct name actually.”

“Glad you’re so informed.” Obviously, he didn't have as much information on bedside manner. 

Aunt May was sitting next to him, but unlike Peter, she seemed to have shut down. “And there’s no cure?”

Peter felt the not quite familiar itch in his eyelids and he blinked hard, one, two, three times, and then stopped, finally satisfied. 

“I’m sorry ma’am,” he said, clearly not so sincere, and Peter almost wanted to scream. This is why he hadn’t wanted to tell May about the weird things that had been going on, about the tics, the sensations that felt irresistible. 

It was too prominent to ignore and sure when it was just blinking he’s been okay, but when he started to have vocalizations, then the real problem arose. Suddenly he was fighting to stay in class every day without getting stared at and when he began to avoid going outside, his Aunt knew something was wrong. 

Peter’s leg bounced and he felt himself grow more anxious. What was the point in coming here when the only information he’s gotten on the subject was that it was incurable? 

“There is medication,” the doctor suddenly chimed in, “but none of it is certain to work, and most of them have side effects. 

Peter spoke in a hurry. “I don’t want any medication.” Medication, an enhanced metabolism, and a secret identity would be an interesting combination that he was not keen on seeing collide.

May gave him an odd look and he said, “I can handle this without any drugs, May.”

“Peter-” she began.

“Please. It’s my choice.”

Spider-Man could handle it. 

 

“So you have a disorder?” Ned asked. 

“Yeah,” Peter replied, suddenly defensive, “so what?”

They were walking down the hallway, it was the bit of the morning before first period and Peter was nervous. He had never had to explain something he barely understood himself before. He’d never had to say words that seemed so important, words that had never come out of his mouth before, words that seemed to change everything. 

“Nothing, man,” his friend said. He stopped in the hallway and Peter absentmindedly realized that he’d reached his locker. Ned pulled over the side of the busy hall with him and looked him in the eyes, suddenly serious. “Just- I’m sorry Pete.” 

He sounded genuine and maybe these were the words that he had wished he’s heard in the doctor's office, but now, on his first time telling someone about this thing- this disorder-

Peter didn’t want pity. 

“Thanks, Ned.” 

 

So maybe Peter Parker has Tourette’s, doesn’t mean that Spider-Man does.

That’s what Peter liked to think anyways

 

He was falling. 

It wasn’t a new experience. He was used to the blurring of the skyline and the building weight in his stomach as he dropped lower and lower, coming closer to the concrete, to rushing cars and the cacophony of noise that filled New York streets constantly. 

It was the weekend, so Peter was out patrolling during the day. It was bright and he could feel the sun warming his skin through his suit.

Peter knew what he was doing as he got closer to the ground. He spun up right before he hit and felt the air whip around him as he flew over cars and latched onto the building he had shot a web at. There was nothing Peter enjoyed more than the almost experience of crushing defeat. The closeness of an encounter of death. 

Except he wasn’t scared like he was during his fights as Spider-Man. He didn’t need to have any fear because he knew that, in reality, he had no reason to be scared. 

The day was bright and Peter could breathe. He would inhale and then repeat as he went through the motions of flying across the sky. 

He was safe. 

Until he twitched. Not really twitched so much as spasmed, really. 

His body rippled and he fell- he didn't hang onto the building- he just fell. He collapsed and hit the ground, still moving, still out of control of his body, and still terrified. This has never happened before, he’d never been so totally overtaken by the itch in his back that he’d become immobile. 

Some people rushed past him, hurrying on their ways to work, and Peter begged everyone to keep walking. A superhero doesn’t need help- shouldn’t need civilians to lend him a hand to get up. 

“Holy shit!” A woman’s voice called out, loud and sudden, and just providing more input into Peter’s already overwhelmed system. 

Stop, he begged, please keep walking. 

Another one called out, “Is he having a seizure?” 

“Spider-Man?” 

He felt hands pressing onto his body, pushing him onto his side. Concrete and gravel dug into his body and Peter wondered what they all thought, seeing their hero so totally immobilized. 

And God, what if this happened during a fight. He’d be done for. 

His eyes burned and, as he finally regained control of his body, he laid there for a moment, catching his breath, surprised by the total exhaustion that had him overwhelmed. 

Despite everything, he thought, I’m still Spider-Man. 

Spider-Man got up and so did Peter Parker.

Standing, Peter drew in another breath, regaining his strength. 

There were people standing around him, civilians that had been looking out for Peter, that had been confused as their city’s hero lay on the ground, dealing with something he barely understood himself. 

“I’m fine.” He was trying to be brave. Trying to be a hero. These people couldn't deal with Peter’s truth-that he had a disability- and Peter didn’t expect them to. 

“I’m fine,” he breathed. 

Then he was gone. 

 

He heard May talking on the phone late one night. 

Doing homework in his room, Peter wasn’t supposed to hear any of it. 

But he did. 

“I just-I don’t know how he’s dealing with it.” 

The tv was clicked off and there wasn’t much background noise aside from the fan going in his room. He tapped his pencil across his page and decided this was a conversation he didn’t want to overhear. More things that made May worry about him- more things that made him worry about May- and he felt himself deflate. 

Didn’t she know that if he could choose, he wouldn’t have Tourette? Why would anyone want to have to deal with this?

“I’m not sure, Cindy. I mean he was doing so well in school and he has his internship, but I’m not sure how he’ll get a job.”

Peter laid and he bed and vowed to try to forget. He wanted to forget how to breathe, forget how to tic, forget everything, but most of all he wanted to let this night leave his mind.

The truth is he had thought that he could get a job, even with his Tourette, but now that he reconsidered it he didn’t know. How could he expect everyone to accept him with this baggage, this obvious burden?

He didn’t want to make anyone have to face this 

 

One day, when he got out of school, there was a car waiting for him. 

“Kid,” Mr.Stark said, his voice gruff but not unwelcoming. “We need to have a chat.” 

Peter slid into the passenger seat of the car with ease, pressing his hand onto the exterior. 

“Where’s Happy?” Peter wondered aloud. 

Tony kept his eyes on the road. “Gave him the day off.” 

What he really wanted to know was why he was here, why he hadn’t just called ahead and told him to come down to the compound.

Peter felt the urge building up in the back of his throat and felt something fall in his chest. The urge was as hard to fight as it was to stop breathing, to hold himself back from blinking. He distracted himself by counting in his head, counting up to ten and then back down and repeat. Mr.Stark didn’t try for any more conversation, and for that he was grateful, but he only wondered what this meant for what was waiting for him at the Tower. 

By the time they got back to the compound, Peter was about to break. He couldn’t hold his urge in for much longer and-

He let out a squeak, except this time it didn’t just come out once, it came out several times and Peter had lost all self-control over it. 

At first, the noise hadn’t caught Tony’s attention but by the time he was a minute into it, without ceasing, the man had stopped walking and was looking at Peter. 

He waited for the fit to pass before speaking and Peter cast his eyes down. 

“So, Pete, what’s up with,” he gestured vaguely with his hands, “this. I saw a video of Spider-Man. Looked like he had had a pretty hard crash landing.”

Peter drug a hand through his hair and felt defeated. “I-Mr.Stark,” he stopped himself. What was he supposed to say? That he was messed up? That he thought his Tourette wouldn’t affect him as Spider-Man but that he’d failed?

“Spit it out, kid. I know something’s up.”

He remembered the pity in Ned’s eyes, the sadness in May’s, how uncertain it made her feel about the future. What would Tony say? He didn’t want to find out. 

He shook his head and lifted his eyes. “No.” 

Tony stopped pacing and looked him in the eyes again. “No?” he asked, giving Peter another chance to choose a different route. 

“No,” and a smile crept on his face. In this point, Peter thought that he held the power, for once it was information that was being demanded from him, for once he held the cards. 

But then he felt a tingling in his hand and before he knew what he was doing he was turned and facing a wall. Then he drove his fist into the wall, with all his force. 

He closed his eyes and refused to open them. Maybe if he never opened his eyes, never gave into reality, it would go away. He could be at peace again. 

“Shit, Parker!”

A hand grabbed him for behind and Peter turned and saw Mr.Stark, eyes wide and scared. 

“Great,” Peter muttered. “Ned and May get sad and now I’m scaring Iron Man.”

‘Yeah, kid, I’m scared because you just punched a fucking hole into my wall-and, God, your hand’s bleeding.”

Peter cradled his hand in his other, shaking it out slightly before looking down on it. His knuckles were a passionate red, like the sun setting on a deep dark day, but Peter wouldn’t really say that they were bleeding, per se, maybe just slightly- 

“You ready to talk now?” 

Spider-Man was strong, so Peter could be too. 

“Sure.”


End file.
